


The Pearlescent Seeds of These Great Demons

by Sweetlady77



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/M, How to Get Away With Murder - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24085783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetlady77/pseuds/Sweetlady77
Summary: Set after season two with weavings of seasons five to six, Laurel finds out the truth behind a disappeared Frank’s parentage just as Gabriel comes to Middleton under mysterious circumstances. It is murderers falling in love with murderers, unknowing half brothers drawn to their father’s killers. Yet the four seeds of their fathers’ demons threatens to poison matters of the heart.
Relationships: Frank Delfino - Relationship, Gabriel Maddox - Relationship, Laurel Castillo - Relationship, Laurel Castillo/Frank Delfino, Michaela Pratt - Relationship, Michaela Pratt/Gabriel Maddox
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Pete Nowalk, ABC, Shondaland, and etc. Just borrowing them for a little bit.

On the first day back on the Middleton campus, Laurel Castillo is trying not to think of making her fourth call to Frank today. Her broken heart pounds wildly as thoughts of terror rage onward, that something happened, that he is hurt or dead. Her summer has been unbearable agony, swallowed up by despair in the beautiful backdrop of her native Mexico— the place they planned to have a first couple's vacation way before he admitted killing an innocent pregnant girl. Laurel fought between shame for still loving him, a man all too similar to her father, and that uncharted melody that comes with a feeling unlike any ever experienced in previous relationships. Dominic had been her first, but Frank, oh he was something else burning in her blood. Those hungry, longing nights hoping for a husky voice addressing her, for a whispered note in the mailbox, a taste of his kiss and pasta sauce.

She pledged utmost loyalty to Annalise Keating, her boss and valiant albeit manipulative protector of the murder of Sam Keating that she and her unlikely accomplice friends committed. If Annalise found out about those persistent calls and voicemail messages to her newfound enemy...

"There's a new guy on campus," Michaela says breaking into Laurel's revelry. The dark haired, umber skinned beauty is eying the specimen with undisguised interest from across the Middleton courtyard. He is tall, light brown, black curls trimmed as gorgeous as her previous lover, the seemingly murderous Caleb Hapstall.

"I thought you wanted to be fabstinent this semester," Laurel says, glancing up at the stranger briefly before resuming to turn the pages of Annalise's new syllabus.

"There is no harm in looking," Michaela sighs, marking paragraphs with her highlighter. "I mean after all we learned so far, every man on earth has dark skeletons in their closets."

"Like the way Sam Keating's in ours," Connor interrupts, sitting down, placing his knapsack on his lap.

"Shhhhhhh," Laurel growls, looking every which way at the gathering crowd of students new and old.

"What? No one heard me. I'm not holding a megaphone out to the world just yet."

Michaela playfully hits his shoulder.

"Now do you see she called us to the house tomorrow afternoon?" Michaela asks.

"You know how much I look forward to that," Connor says, gagging.

"Hey," Laurel says.

"You know you're not looking forward to going back as much as we are, especially considering..."

"What?" Laurel asks, raising one thick brow.

"That your bearded savior is no longer there to rescue you," Connor interjects.

"Frank's girl," Michaela laughs.

"I've more than proved to be more than that," Laurel says.

"So you admit to liking that nickname?" Connor asks, raising his own black brows suggestively.

"Hey, I—"

"Shhhh," Michaela says, pasting on a euphoric grin as the handsome potential walks over and smiles at them, lingering especially on Michaela and Laurel.

"Hi, I'm Gabriel," he says.

A chill crawls down Laurel’s spine as he gazes at her, something familiar in his eyes, his very air, even his bright white teeth.

"I gotta go," she says. "I will see you guys tomorrow."

"I thought we would have dinner and watch a film-" Michaela suggests.

"Yes, tomorrow," Laurel says curtly, rising. "I have a thing."

She waves at Connor and nods to Gabriel whose eyes are laser beams on her retreating back.

In the safe haven of her car, Laurel looks at her cell phone again, no new messages once more. She cannot contain her worry and calls him.

"I am glad you haven't changed your phone number," she says, chatting to the voicemail, the hollow ghost of her ex, the man still owning her heart in its viscous grip.

As she leaves behind another vocal lashing to hide her anxiety and pain, a call is interrupting, one she does not want to answer. She needs this though, this key to unlock the mysteries surrounding a missing man that fills her thoughts and dreams.

/

As Laurel strolls into Antares Offices, her father, the sleek, charismatic Jorge Castillo, is stepping off the glass elevator in a silver Armani suit that matches his two hundred dollar haircut.

"Right on time," he says, kissing her cheek and reaching for a hug.

"Let's just get to the information you promised me," Laurel says, not too keen on his public showing of affection, especially considering it is likely a show for his overpaid staff.

"Follow me."

He escorts her into his impressionable office of first edition books, exotic plants, and organized state of the art furniture and closes the door.

He sits. She prefers to stand.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this," Jorge says, taking a thin Manila folder and placing it in her hands. "He is not a good man for you."

"I don't listen to dating advice from the likes of you," Laurel retorts, hugging the folder close, ready to be on her way.

"Yet it is me that you come to for help."

"After this, don't expect to see me again."

"I found something out that will shock you. He is not normal."

"Don't ever say that about him! He is not a monster like you!"

Jorge laughs, opening a teal box of fine quality cigars and offers one. She declines, impatiently waiting to see if this visit is in vain.

"Oh that Frank, is a monster, my dear," Jorge continues, lighting up. "The one from your nightmares, our resident Quasimodo."

Laurel panics, fearing that he means Lila. Frank had been utterly careful about orchestrating that senseless murder— except the phone of course. No one could trace him to the scene.

"What do you mean?" Laurel asks.

In her father's gold gilded mirror, her blue eyes are saucer wide, her thick brows are furrowed, tears are forming.

"You already know, don't you?" Jorge counters.

"Know what?" Laurel asks. He is wasting her time, making her work for what she's come for— Frank's location. Is it not in this folder? Why is he stalling?

"Do you know whom his father is?" Jorge asks.

"Yes," Laurel replies.

She fondly remembers the kind wheelchair bound Mr. Delfino and often believed him to be a wonderful part of her future. Back when her and Frank's unexpectedly blossoming love was new and exciting, rapt from duty stakeouts, homemade dinners in his apartment, and risqué sexual distractions.

Jorge laughs again, the cigar smoke clouding his office. The tears slide down Laurel's face in a soft waterfall and her chin wobbles. She is sure that it is from the smoke. Her instincts tell a darker story. Something wicked is dancing in the flames of her father's face, something ugly and wrong.

"That is not his real father," Jorge says, sneering. He becomes more evil, less jester.

Laurel's mouth parts, but nothing comes out. He sits there in that expensive swivel chair, smiling like a Cheshire Cat, twirling his cigar in a villainous clutch. She used to call him the devil's right hand for a reason.

"Who is it then?" Laurel asks.

"Sam Keating," Jorge reveals, studying her reaction.

"No..." Laurel screams, backing away, her body nearing the door, the folder almost slipping from her sweaty grasp. Her muddled mind is suddenly tortured with flashes of Sam's head thumping against the carpeted floor in the eerie blue light, his dark blood pooling quickly into the fibers. That could not be Frank's father. Mr. Delfino was, had to be.

She imagines Frank's hands on Lila's throat, twisted in the chilling memory of Sam's fingers squeezing Rebecca's.

"It gets better," Jorge says, strangely delighted.

"I don't believe you!" Laurel snaps.

Jorge laughs and shakes his judgmental head, the rich, heartless man who long ago would not pay the ransom to rescue his kidnapped daughter.

"Hannah Keating is his mother," he says, taking another cigar puff, the released clouds black and gray as fire's ash. "Your lover is the product of filthy incest."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank is on the run with a mission, suddenly called home.

She was supposed to be a temporary fling. The one girl to string along for a few months before summer break hits and the first years come down in the fall like ripe, crisp apples dangling from Garden of Eden’s branched hands. Frank Delfino knew that he could not do that forever, be the Casanova to the preps fresh out of Ivy League, stars in their doey eyes.   
It is fall again now. Instead of scouting out Annalise’s new crop of students, looking for a smart, easy catch, all he still thinks about is Laurel Castillo. From afar.   
She was so different from the usual. Perhaps the ruthless upbringing, that dangerous family of hers where money was valued over love influenced his decision. He read her unsealed police file over and over with clenched fists, the grisly details of the kidnapping, a trapped sixteen-year-old praying for her father’s help and not getting it. Yes, he picked her for provocative reasons, for the same reasons he has chosen the last bright young dalliances. However, beyond the chemical attraction igniting explosive sparks between them, somehow Frank became impermissibly besotted. It almost frightens him, that urgent need to protect her from everything bad and evil in the world, a man like himself.   
He listens to her messages, attentive in the way of a starved child requesting good bedtime stories to ease away the terrors waiting in the night. As he migrates from place to place, on buses, on trains, using cash for everything, her words bring him joy, even when she is angry or speaking in Spanish. He has even purchased a pocket Spanglish dictionary so that he can translate her.   
He cannot sleep much. His dark, dreary dreams are haunted by the look of horror on her face, the tears cascading down her rosy cheeks after he confessed to killing Lila— his greatest mistake and among the biggest regrets of his life. He never thought she would see him as a monster, a creature from the black lagoon. In all that time, she thought Sam killed Lila, that she and her accomplices were right in the accidental crime. Maybe that lessened their guilt somehow, hers especially. She had been joking in believing he whacked Rebecca, that he was a professional hit man. Now that he confirmed it, she could not accept him.   
He understood.   
She avoided his text messages, his voicemails, his constant “I love you” confessions. Now he returned the favor— not out of spite, but out of fear and uncertainty.   
Jealousy eats away at his battered heart, having watched Laurel with Kan. Now Annalise’s favorite, the puppy, Wes Gibbons, was giving her those subtle looks, the yearning looks one has when the seeds of desire are planted. The soil is rich and watered. Only a matter of time before Laurel realizes Wes is the good one, the man of fairy tales that won’t have those big blue eyes seized with fright.   
Worser still, Annalise hates him. If only he had told her ten years ago, if only he apologized and not allowed Sam to intercept him, to eventually blackmail him into murder. Tying himself to the law firm, working diligently not to encourage her wrath and disappointment, kept Frank’s redemption flowing. He went above and beyond to please her, sweep the skeletons under the rug. It devastates him now, the reoccurring nightmares, reliving that grisly afternoon in Ohio as though the dead child were his own. If only he had taken his bruised ego in another way, channeled through something other than foolhardy retaliation.   
In the darkness mirroring his broken soul, Frank scuffs at that, lying on a dirty motel bed, pressing play on Laurel’s latest message to cheer up his disposition.   
“We started back today,” she begins softly, her tone sad, “Middleton campus is packed with bodies. I collide into bearded men who are not you. Their shirtsleeves are too starched and they wear too much hair gel. I would see the silhouette of someone eating a Snickers and want to scream at them to eat trail mix. I know it is not you. It is never you. I smell Italian from the takeout place by Professor Keating’s house and remember your grimace, your saying that it is a disgrace. I miss you. I hate you.... Frank, talk to me, let me know that you’re okay just once. Please.... te extraño y te amo y debería saberlo mejor.”   
He lies on his back and remembers her, the smell and silky feel of her creamy skin, the ocean of her eyes a drowning solace for a man without a lifeboat.   
Their kisses were always fiery and intense, sweet and insatiable. When their bodies collided, it was a volcanic eruption, sweaty, passionate, and wildly addictive.   
He had gotten too comfortable with her playing house, leaving her clothes, her toothpaste, her shampoo. They did not need to go out to restaurants. He cooked her dinner almost every night. She would prepare empanadas from scratch and introduced fried plantains and conchas to him. They snuggled on the couch over hot chocolates— tiny white marshmallows and extra cinnamon floating in hers. He tried to help her with homework. She helped him solve a case. During their late nights at the Keating house, he drove her home or she would do so for him in return. They often slept without making love, just cuddling, keeping each other safe and warm. She met his family and they loved her. That’s how serious they were. Their routine was normal, made him secretly hope that one day she would accept his marriage proposal— well after she finished school and became a full fledged lawyer. He never thought of marrying any of these girls. None.   
Now that hope was smothered and gone.   
Her messages are the last remains of what is forever lost to him. It is a ruse, a death sentence to return back to Philadelphia. She was under Annalise’s thumb now.   
It is not Laurel alone that makes him keep the phone. Although Annalise has probably hired a real hit man to track and kill him, the number is for his parents, for his mother. Sure his father retains the semblance of fear, rightfully so, the man raised him and still believes that a good person exists inside.   
“We are so lucky that Sam and his sister came when they did,” Leroy Delfino said during grace after Frank’s release and first home cooked dinner, “that they got you out of that rat hole and brought you back home to us.”   
Little did anyone know, Sam had a vile purpose, cajoling Frank’s violent nature to freely come out of repression. Not the good side that his father wants, that his mother imagines, that Laurel needs.   
He is a menace, grotesque and unnatural, his blood boiling with an uncontrollable rage to inflict harm. It scares him that he murdered someone, an innocent woman who had an affair with the wrong man. He had felt so robotic that night, like a machine turned on by the chip named Sam.   
God, how he wished to have murdered that callous, self-centered bastard, that Laurel wasn’t involved in the crime.  
Frank’s new vigilante mission is to kill the fathers, the monsters who hurt others including their children. First, he shot Wes’s dad right in the head, driving off as the wordless Wes stands there, his father’s blood splattered on his face. Next, he suffocates Bonnie’s rapist father who lived too long in the world. Next will be Jorge Castillo. Oh yes, he could not wait for that moment.   
As Frank’s reddened eyes close to find sleep and solace among the rage mingling with heavy guilt and sorrow, his phone vibrates. When he finds that it is not Laurel, he picks up.   
“Ma?” He says.   
“You haven’t been to the family dinners in many Sundays,” she immediately blasts him.   
“I’ve been busy traveling, Ma.”  
“That Annalise sure keeps you away from us entirely too much these days. You missed your Aunt Sylvia’s fifteen tower lasagna— your favorite.”   
“I’m sorry. I promise to make it one day soon.”  
“Soon better be now.”  
Her voice takes on a melancholic note and she sniffles, gasps slightly. Frank sits up fast, cradling the phone to his ear as if it brings his mother closer than the sound of her obvious dismay.   
“What is it?” He asks. “What aren’t you telling me?”   
“It’s your father, Frankie,” she says, finally breaking down. “You better come home if you can.”  
“Ma?”  
“I didn’t want to do this over the phone, but you have to. He needs you, he needs all of us right now.”   
Frank gathers his duffel bag and heads out the motel, rushing forward to likely say goodbye to the best father that he has ever known, a man he still wishes to make proud.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michaela is conducting her own investigation.

Every now and then, Michaela Pratt takes out the engagement ring and stares at the diamonds, her dark brown eyes still drawn to each crystalline facet. To think, next year, she would have been Mrs. Aidan Walker in a custom Vera Wang gown, years of no orgasms and wonderings if Aidan craves a man in their bed. She has little regrets in not fighting harder for him.   
Caleb Hapstall comes to her in dreams, asking for forgiveness and second chances, a taste of intimate dates, first class travel, and real passion.   
She thinks about their last conversation, the last positive one before he coldly calls her and her associates sick, that he only used her for sex.   
“Have you thought about your birth parents at all?” He asked. “Your father even?”  
“No,” she replied. “They did what they thought was best for me and knowing that sacrifice is enough for me.”   
“I don’t think about mine at all either.”   
Michaela is pretty certain Caleb’s death was foul play and never believed he committed all those murders, let alone suicide. Something is not right about how everything tied up to a little violent bow. She stayed in Philadelphia all summer, no longer having another home to return to, using the free time to investigate. She has obtained photos of the grisly scene— Caleb in the bloody bathtub, his bright eyes vacant and cold.   
All the Hapstall fortune is going to charities, the bulk of it towards the Vick Capital firm.   
As she considers the involvement of his birth parents, she does secretly think about hers, about who they were and why they did not keep her. Trishelle Pratt was definitely not the right kind of foster parent, forcing Michaela's determination to leave the nest, to better herself.   
She shoves the ring back into her top drawer, grabs her coat, and rushes out. 

/

Michaela knocks on the door and Laurel opens up, wrapping her arms around her chunky red sweater.   
“Hi,” Laurel says, surprised to see her.   
“What is up with you lately?” Michaela asks, storming inside the apartment. “You’re turning into a meek little Bonnie.”  
“First of all, you’re wrong in your perception of Bonnie. Secondly, nothing is wrong.”  
“You look dejected. Did Frank finally call you back and tell you to leave him alone?”  
Laurel’s face reddens and she looks away.   
“Come on, I came all this way to treat you to Ben and Jerry.”   
“Remember? I said I had plans?”   
“With your pain? I refuse to let you wallow alone. C’mon, let’s go!”   
“Okay. If you’re buying.”  
While Laurel puts on her blue coat, Michaela notes the opened folder on her lamplit desk, glimpsing a picture of young Frank. Before she can venture further, Laurel is pushing her out the door and locking it.   
They take a cab from Chestnut to Walnut Street where the University of Penn students run rampant. As Michaela holds the door open to the modestly packed crowd also enjoying pints and popsicles, Gabriel is rushing forward, all scarfed up and smelling like Burberry.   
“Well, hello ladies,” he greets them, stealing the chivalrous task of holding the door from Michaela.   
“Hello there,” Michaela says, plastering on a killer watt Dorothy Dandridge smile. “Thank you for being a gentleman. Gabriel, is it?”  
“Yes, you remembered! Michaela and Laurel, right?”   
“Yes,” Michaela says, swatting a silent Laurel whose noticeably distracted.   
Laurel only smiles.   
“I saw you two heading over here, but I’m not going to stay and interrupt girl’s night,” Gabriel says. “We’re still on for Friday?”  
“Yes, of course,” Michaela replies.   
“I look forward to it.”   
He stares at Laurel for a moment, smiles awkwardly, and leaves. Michaela sighs, watching him walk away, overwhelmed by the attractive man, the sparks of desire making its way inside.   
“You gave him my name,” Laurel says under gritted teeth, forcing Michaela to get her head out the clouds.   
“I was being polite unlike you who rushed off to god knows where today,” Michaela says. “Anyways, he invited me out for a coffee.”   
“And your pact?”  
“You think the absolute worst in me? Do you know how hard it was to stay engaged after Connor told me about boarding school with Aidan?”   
“Michaela, I had no idea—”  
“Well, it sucks. I want to fully concentrate on my studies and not be easily tempted by some hot exchange student from Cornell.”  
“A bit too early to play the stalker.”  
“This coming from the obsessive ex-girlfriend.”  
“Touché.”   
They occupy a corner booth and twirl their desserts, barely taking bites, both subdued in strangulating thoughts.  
“If I ask you something, do you swear not to bite my head off?” Michaela asks.   
“It depends on the question,” Laurel responds, scooping raspberry sorbet into her mouth.   
“Why did you two break up anyway?”  
“It’s complicated.”   
“Well, I guess all flings must end at some point.”   
“It was not just about sex.”  
“Really Miss Going Down to the Basement for Two Hours?”   
“It was… it was more than anything.”   
Michaela eats her ice cream, guilty. She notes that Laurel’s eyes are puffy, the whites splotchy red. It is the look of someone who's been crying for hours. Yes, Michaela jokes often about Laurel and the bearded “handyman,” but in reality, she craves something like theirs. A protective lover, best friend who had only eyes for her like Frank obviously had for Laurel before disappearing off the face of the earth. Michaela wants to know more about that file on Laurel’s desk, what she found out about Frank’s past. She won’t push the subject until her friend is ready.   
“Are you still investigating Caleb?” Laurel asks.   
“How did you know?” Michaela counters.  
“I didn’t believe you for a second when you told Annalise that he was guilty. You’re conducting something on your own.”  
“I may have a lead too.”  
“Really?”  
“The Vick Capital had the most to gain from the Hapstalls. I mean, they were a lucrative firm already, but you should have seen how many more clients came to them after the Hapstalls died. It is all very skeevy.”   
Laurel grasps Michaela’s arm, her brows contorted in worry.   
“This sounds dangerous. Maybe you should stop while you’re ahead.”   
“No way! I won’t stop until I clear Caleb’s name. I feel responsible for this. I’m meeting with the corporate head, Solomon Vick after we leave the house tomorrow.”   
“Michaela—”  
“Don’t worry. I will be careful.”   
She digs into her ice cream and looks at Laurel, her expression soft and vulnerable.  
“Do you think he did it?” Michaela asks.   
“After everything we’ve done,” Laurel starts, her liquid eyes glassy in the parlor light, “I think anyone is capable of murder, even the ones we least suspect.”   
“There is a difference between Caleb and Frank. Frank is very capable of it.”  
“Michaela, don’t—”  
“Laurel, you and I both know he does things for Annalise. Criminal things. He’s probably even killed for her.”   
“Thanks for the ice cream,” Laurel says, getting up and putting on her coat. “I will see you tomorrow.”  
“Laurel!”   
The other girl is out in a flash, leaving Michaela sighing in frustration. Now on top of figuring out Caleb’s death, she’s going to find out all about what Laurel is hiding about Frank too. Why would he leave behind the very girl he picked for the Keating Five, Annalise, and Bonnie? Michaela shouldn’t care, having her own problems to solve, but she did. She cares about Laurel, a friend she never had before.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is on a dangerous mission to find out the truth at all costs.

“... and the last and final slot goes to Mr. Gabriel Maddox,” Professor Annalise Keating announces to the first year class. “You will meet with the previous Keating Five this afternoon at the Keating House. They will mentor you once a week.”  
Professor Keating pairs Gabriel with the gorgeous Michaela Pratt, a vision in a three-quarter sleeve olive green dress, accentuating her figure quite nicely. He commends himself on a job well done, having tried his utmost best to capture Professor Keating’s attention. He did the homework, answering all the questions in a way that satisfied her opposing logic, aroused new strategies. The key to gaining the upper hand with her was to embody well beyond Teacher’s Pet. She thrived on attention to detail, to the power of a solid argument even if it clashed with her own.  
“Now as you know,” Professor Keating says, holding up a bronze hammer-like object, “the person who goes above and beyond the rest will get out the final exam and automatically pass my class with this— the judge’s gavel.”  
“It used to be a trophy,” someone whispers to Gabriel. “I wonder why she changed it this year.”  
“Interesting,” Gabriel says, stroking his chin.  
He studies the five students on stage: Wes Gibbons, Laurel Castillo, Asher Millstone, Connor Walsh, and his prey Michaela. Wes is the only one who does not get paired— it’s usually four chosen ones and last year, Professor Keating added him as an essential candidate. The five are standing uncomfortably, quite unassured for notoriously strong-willed Professor Keating’s chosen law students. Asher has a goofy grin, Wes keeps grimacing at a sad faced Laurel, Connor looks peeved, and Michaela plays the cool cucumber. Beside them is a shorter woman with close cropped blonde hair, tight-lipped Bonnie Winterbottom. Absent is Frank Delfino— a years long confidante suddenly gone and on the outs. Gabriel wonders if the man is dead somewhere, buried and yet to be uncovered like his father, Sam Keating. After all, mysterious deaths and disappearances have been circling around Professor Keating since Sam’s young mistress died, then Sam himself turned up in a dumpster, charred and cut pieces compartmentalized into separate trash bags, downright sadistic.  
Gabriel demanded justice for a father who did not raise him. Scot free Professor Keating was a prime suspect as well as her own ex-lover, former police officer, Nate Lahey. Gabriel has been reading every article available, even tabloids to scrap at the truth. He knows about his father’s time of death, about Connor’s car parked around the Keating house on Bonfire Night. He has looked up their social media posts, Connor, Michaela, Wes, and Laurel smiling as his father is somewhere dying or already dead and disposed of at their hands or that of Professor Keating.  
After class is dismissed and Professor Keating requests the new Keating Four to her house, Gabriel rushes down the steep steps to intercept Michaela. Although he admits enjoying their Friday coffees, she is tied to his father’s death. He is certain. His gut has never been wrong.  
“Looks like fate couldn’t wait until another impromptu Friday,” he says.  
“I don’t mind that, do you?” She asks, her radiant smile enticing him, pulling him into a web meant to ensnare and keep prey captive.  
He has learned from experience that looks can kill, especially sinfully attractive people like Michaela. Why else did he purposefully overdose his mother’s boyfriend for beating and drugging her? The charismatic, charming Paul Desoto was signing a death warrant for mentally ill Vivian Maddox who still could not get over Sam, believing that drugs miraculously cloaked the past. So Gabriel put matters into his own hands, saving his mother in the process.  
And like that, a first kill without any remorse stirs something in him, heightening when he watches the tantalizing Professor Keating in the classroom. She is talented, sharp, vicious. After he gets her confession, or that of any other, he has elaborate plans of killing her too.  
“Would you like me to walk you over to the Keating House or do you have other plans?” Gabriel asks, slyly glancing over at Laurel and Connor. Laurel is tough ice to crack. Meanwhile Connor is smirking, pretending that he has not been giving Michaela indecent hand gestures.  
“Oh, yes… I mean, of course, I can walk you there,” Michaela says. “I will show you around the house.”  
“That’s what I expect from my mentor.”  
Gabriel follows her out, seeing that Wes and Professor Keating have taken a considerable lead. They’re quite close, as intimate as any teacher/student, almost like mother/son. Yet Wes turns to look back at Laurel and Laurel glances downward, clearly uncomfortable. Asher is the joker and while Connor tries to be annoyed by his flippant antics, his lips cannot resist upturning.  
“I know we were waiting on Friday again, but do you have plans tonight?” Gabriel asks quietly.  
“I’m sorry,” Michaela says. “I am in a group to prepare defensive arguments tonight. Friday is not that far away. Be patient. I am worth the wait.”  
“I know. I know. I can’t help it.”  
She blushes and focuses straight ahead.  
He strokes the button of his pocketed recording device, not yet ready to be used. Eventually, he will get her to talk. 

/

Michaela shows Gabriel around the living room, the main place for the gang to research organized file folders inside long white boxes stacked in neat rows. Although packed with nine students, it is a clean, relaxing environment, spacious. He wonders if his father died here or someplace nearby.  
When Professor Keating heads into her office, Bonnie at her heels, Gabriel breaks the sudden quiet.  
“What happened to that other colleague, I think his name was Frank something?” He asks.  
“Frank’s Girl here,” Asher replies, gesturing towards Laurel, “oops, I mean, former girl can tell you all about it.”  
“Asher shut up!” Laurel screams, hitting him with a folder as Wes frowns considerably at her.  
“They used to date,” Michaela whispers. “She didn’t take it well.”  
“I see,” Gabriel whispers back. “So she and Wes aren’t…?”  
“What no! They are practically brother and sister.” She pauses and studies him hard. “Wait. Are you interested in Laurel?”  
“No way,” he says. “I’m only interested in what’s right in front of me.”  
“Unfortunately for you, Sir. I’m staying fabstinent.”  
“Fab-sta-what?”  
“Did I just say that out loud? Ignore me.”  
He laughs and shakes his head.  
“Here is the downstairs bathroom,” she continues. “Upstairs is usually off limits. The basement is right there.”  
“What happens in the basement?” He asks.  
“Sometimes we have to carry up or down an extra box or two. Couples are known to get sidetracked, dim lights and all.”  
“Dim lights?”  
She blushes again and leads him back to the living room. Bonnie is waiting for them.  
“We have a new client,” she announces. 

/

“Where are you?” Vivian Maddox asks.  
“I’m at the campus library,” Gabriel lies into the phone.  
“I’m just so proud of you son. You’re going to make your grandmother proud at Cornell. How is Ithaca treating you? Not too cold up there is it?”  
Gabriel’s guilt grows. He retains his composure, watching Michaela and the older man walk into the fine dining restaurant together on Sansom Street. Once or twice a week, they meet up. Gabriel slyly takes pictures from the shadowed crevices of his car.  
“The weather is fine, Ma,” he responds.  
“Good. I have another scarf almost knitted and ready to be mailed out.”  
“No Ma!”  
“What? I thought you liked them.”  
“I do… it’s just… I’m still enjoying the one you sent me in August.”  
“Okay, no rush then. Well, I will let you get back to studying. Just wanted to check up. I love you, Honey.”  
“I love you too, Ma.”  
Michaela and her date take the window seat, glimmering in the moonlight. Gabriel can not become distracted by how utterly illuminating she appears, how lights just dance on her dark brown skin. Something burns brighter, hungrier than the taste of revenge. He imagines licking her shoulders, her collarbone.  
“Get yourself together man,” he says to himself, eager to focus on the real matter at hand. “She’s probably a killer.”  
Gabriel has yet to get a good look at her companion’s face until now. He sees the smooth complexion, the familiar shark white teeth in his smile. He takes a quick picture before the man turns around, only showing his profile for the remainder of the night.  
As Gabriel drives off, he wonders about Michaela having these dinners with a man who was obviously her father or close relation. What could they possibly be discussing? He is certain that it is more than meets the eye. Very, very certain.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel is determined to find out the truth!

Laurel has not called Frank in a while.

She's been throwing up and feeling queasy all week, mentally torn up by a running faucet of horror. Hazy cigar smoke clouds her father's nose and mouth while his prominent eyes devilishly blacken. He laughs cruelly, repeating the words "your lover is the product of filthy incest" over and over in a maddening crescendo.

Laurel reads Frank's police report again, the breakfast coffee cup shaking in her hand. At thirteen, he was tried as an adult for running over Leroy Delfino, sentenced to life in prison with possibility of parole— that was until Sam and Hannah Keating intervened, taking him into their custody after Frank turned twenty-three.

"God Frank…" Laurel says, wiping her wet face. He said he had dropped out of community college. That was a lie.

"You're just interested in knowing the good things," he says in the car during the stakeout. She enjoys it when it's only them.

"That's not true," she says. "Good things. Bad. Just talk to me."

"What if it's mostly bad things?"

The birth certificate is fire in Laurel's hands, igniting rage and disgust. The hot emotions are detonated for Sam and Hannah, not Frank. This monstrosity could not be blamed on the victim of an inappropriate relationship. Laurel was certain that Frank knew nothing of why Sam, Hannah, and of course, Annalise released him, made him indebted and loyal.

"If Annalise catches you calling him," Bonnie warns earlier that morning in the kitchen, holding a black coffee cup to her bright red mouth.

"I haven't called him in weeks," Laurel whispers hotly. "I swear."

"Good."

"I know what he did in Coalport, what he did for you." Laurel thinks about the news clippings in the manila folder, the tracking information her father provided. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't ask me any questions," Bonnie snaps. "I told you from the very beginning not to become involved with him."

"At least tell me what do you know about Hannah?"

"What does she have to do with anything, least of all Frank?"

"Nothing. I'm just following a lead is all."

Laurel remembers how intrusive Hannah was, spying on them, anxious to catch a lie. Frank's hair has Hannah's chestnut brown shade, that same lustrous fullness. His blue eyes, however, are the eyes of Sam, less cold, less terrifying. That is until Lila crushes her perceptions. He killed that girl just like Sam would have killed Rebecca if Wes had not intervened.

If Laurel had not drunkenly revealed Frank killed Lila to Annalise, he would still be here, here with her. She pushed him to tell her the complete truth. He remained obedient to silence, leaving without a trace, without telling her goodbye...

So obviously Sam, perhaps holding some form of blackmail, had demanded Frank to commit murder. Now Laurel partly knew why. Sam wanted a secret son's hands dirty, adding substantial leverage whilst keeping a clear conscious and unstained record.

On her laptop, Laurel sets up an online appointment to a certain New Jersey office.

"Damn it!" She snaps. Hannah is booked all through October.

Laurel has many questions for the psychiatrist and needs answers. It cannot wait.

For now, she decides to head towards the one local place to start. When she opens the door, Wes had been standing, about to knock.

"We need to talk," Wes says, barging inside.

"Wes, look I am on my way—" Laurel gets out.

"I have to get past this. Get past that Frank killed my father and that you're not responsible. But every time I see you, I remember my dad's blood gushing on my face. His brains on the ground. It was Sam all over again. The head wounds bleeding and bleeding. Then my mom and her neck..."

"Oh Wes."

Laurel moves to hug him, but he jumps immediately.

"See," he says. "I cannot stop doing that."

"I'm so sorry about everything," she sighs. "I'm trying to be a supportive friend to you, Wes. If you would just—"

"That's the problem, Laurel. I cannot be your friend right now."

/

Speaking of other Keating Five interferences, Michaela has been texting Laurel all throughout the evening about cracking Caleb's case. She's been having continuous meetings with the head of Vick Corporation over drinks. All while building a rapport with the new student, Gabriel— whom Professor Keating has foolishly partnered her. Laurel's suspicions grow too. Gabriel stares at the Keating Five a lot, like he knows things about them. His interest is not purely on Michaela. Laurel notes his glances on Wes, his lingering on Connor and Asher, his subtle looks at her. The familiarity whispers to her, that gnawing instinct in her gut that he is not to be trusted, that he is hiding a huge secret that could impact the whole group. Either way, Laurel knows that she cannot let fabstinent Michaela get any further with him.

Maybe he is a mole implanted by her father?

Plus, Laurel's own mentee, Georgia Crenshaw, is obsessed with trying to please Professor Keating. That causes Laurel to remember her earlier desires to be noticed by the intelligent, charismatic lawyer who long since stopped calling her "Frank's Girl." Even made her a temporary Bonnie.

Laurel shoves her heavy mental plate aside, composes herself, knocks on the door in front of her, and waits a few beats.

Mrs. Delfino answers.

"Oh Laurel," she says, stepping outside and shutting the door behind her, wrapping a red sweater around her petite shoulders. "Hello Sweetheart. I was actually about to make dinner."

"Hi, I didn't mean to interrupt. Can I come in?" Laurel asks.

"Listen as much as I would love to, now is not a good time."

"I understand. I just… I have to ask a few more-"

"My husband told me you've been skulking around."

"I want to learn about where Frank comes from." Laurel decides not to waste time, "look I know you're not his biological mother."

Mrs. Delfino gasps, putting a hand to her heart. She looks much older, her eyes have shrunken and misted over, the wrinkles growing rapidly at her brows and corners if lips. Laurel believes that she must be devastated by Frank's disappearance as well.

"How dare you insinuate such a horrible thing? Frank is my life."

"Mrs. Delfino with all due respect, I am not minimizing your love for him. I would never do that. It is obvious that his protectiveness of those he cares about comes from you."

Mrs. Delfino starts shaking and crying. Laurel takes out a tissue and encourages Mrs. Delfino to sit on the nearby porch swing. Laurel settles next to the older woman and affectionately rubs her frail hand, showing without words that she is ready to listen, be a confidante.

"Leroy and I were having such a hard time," Mrs. Delfino says, softly wiping her tears and pursing her lips. "My sister Sylvia was already on her third kid and we had yet to have one. I wanted a child so badly. You have to understand that. We kept trying. When that desire is robbed of you time and time again, you feel like an absolute failure. Like heaven is taking away the one thing, you wanted most in the world."

"Then someone helped you make that dream come true," Laurel inserts, stroking away a stray tear escaping her own eye.

"Yes. I don't know how she knew. This young, eighteen-year-old girl answered our prayers. We didn't have a lot of money, but we had a healthy home. We had our Italian roots, a foundation. This girl not only offered up her child, she paid for him even though we did not ask her to."

"She paid for him?"

"Every March 2nd, an unaddressed envelope came with a check for twenty-five thousand. That stopped after he turned thirteen. She blamed us for him going to prison."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's alright."

Laurel breathes out an awkward sigh, realizing that Hannah was giving the Delfinos money on Frank's birthday. Briefly, she wonders if they spent it all or set some aside. The most important element, however, was Frank's ten year prison stint.

"Do you know why he did it, Mrs. Delfino?" Laurel asks. "Why did he try to kill your husband?"

"Maybe you should let him tell you that himself, Laurel," Mrs. Delfino replies, stiffened and out of sadness. "I think I have said far too much already. After all, you're not even his girlfriend anymore."

"I still care about him."

"That much is obvious." Mrs. Delfino's eyes soften and a gentle smile transforms her. "You are probably the best woman he's ever brought home, Laurel. He had a long distance girl named Sasha, but she was never the right fit for him. You on the other hand… I mean, who else could I have trusted to share a story only the close family knows? There's something about you. I see it, I feel it. Call it a mother's intuition."

Laurel blushes, looking down rather uncomfortably. Her own mother, Sandrine Castillo, was not big on affection and compliments.

"You should be able to speak to him soon," Mrs. Delfino says. "Frank's coming home."

Laurel's head pops up instantly and her heart pounds with a secret joy.

They have so much to talk about. That is, if he would let her speak to him.


End file.
